


Offspring.

by TheStoriesWeLoveBest



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sherlock Series 4 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-18 04:49:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9368690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheStoriesWeLoveBest/pseuds/TheStoriesWeLoveBest
Summary: A small talk between Sherlock and Irene, and a glimpse into their relationship.Spoiler alert: it's happens during Season 4, after The Lying Detective, but there are mentions to The Six Thatchers.





	1. Chapter 1

From all his vices she was the worst, the most addictive and manipulative. The Woman got the power to make him do whatever she wants. 

«People text. Even I text. Her, I mean. Woman. Bad idea. Try not to, but, you know, sometimes...» 

Texting her was a bad idea, of course. She was a bad idea, a dangerous woman. But sometimes he couldn’t help but looking for her, like if she was another cocaine doses, or the most wanted cigarette. He always finds her, no matter where she was. She was in Poland, in an oceanfront house. He had been there, right after Mary’s death, in the main living room, breaking himself into a million pieces into her embrace. 

"Happy Birthday, Mr. Holmes. Let’s have dinner".

He should never told her his birthday. He knew she had a lot of information about him that she shouldn’t have, but honestly, he also had a lot of information about her. If he had to unlock her phone in that moment, all he would need was just a few seconds. 

Sherlock reads the text again. She wouldn’t be waiting for an answer, he never text her back. She was waiting another thing, a thing that he is going to give her, because The Woman hates waiting. He grabs his coat and his passport, and takes a cab to the airport. 

Her house was still the same that two weeks ago, he passed the door with a flinch because all his injuries are still hurting him, and the recent addiction to all types of drugs isn’t helping either. She was sitting in the main couch, with a silk dressing gown, barefoot and a smirk on her red lips. She loses the smirk when she truly looks at him.

“You’re worse than last time, darling.”

“Drugs,” he answered. 

Irene gets up ceremoniously, cross the space that separates them and very lowliness she caress his cheek, like she always does in his Mental Palace.  
“Look at you, we couldn’t have dinner, you don’t have enough strength to that.”

“What do you propose?”

“Sleep, eat, maybe we could talk.”

She was right, of course, he barely could take some spoonful of soaps before falling asleep in the same couch in which she was waiting for him. He sleeps ten, maybe eleven hours, because when he wakes up, outside the window is dark night. She was nowhere to be find, but had left him some hot food in the kitchen. 

She takes care of him, that’s what they do: she take care of his injuries when he arrives at her door, and she looks for him when her enemies are too close, normally, all her problems disappear after a night at Baker Street. 

Irene comes back when he had finished all the food, she looks different, she looks then like the Dominatrix: with an expensive dress, her beloved Loubuitosn and with the hair in a complicated bun behind her head. 

“Look at you, you look so much better.”

That is all that he needs, her smirk. The game begin again, like if it never had stopped, they get lost and found in her bed, and between the rounds, he talks and she listened. He talks about Smith and all the case, how John now has discovered her, and how he guess pretty much all of that they’re doing. She was different, her measurements had changed with the time, but are so little changes that nobody but him would notice it. He talks and she listened again, about Rosie, and all the cuteness that every baby takes.  
“Have you ever thought about it?”

“Babies?” She asked. 

“Offspring.”

“I’m not someone for motherhood, dear.”

That’s true, of course, what would they do? Leave the baby alone while she was with clients and he catching assassins all around the city? It’s craziness.  
“I wouldn’t care,” he adds. “Having a baby is like a big experiment, isn’t it?” 

“I’m not fond on science either,” she says while getting up and enter at the bathroom. 

He go back to London twelve hours later, and even when he tells John that he was just soling a case, he knew his friend didn’t believe him. 

She was like the worst drugs of all: destructive and addictive, and he was not prepare to never see her again. But it takes months, he doesn’t see her in months.  
He received her text two months later:

“You’re right, maybe I should have think about offspring before.”

The message was accompanied with a picture of an echography.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This happens during The Final Problem, so Alert Spoiler for it.

Her measurements haven’t change, not at all, but they would change. He looks at her, studying her while she was asleep. She had arrived at her flat in the middle of the night, had entered to his room using the window of his bedroom. He was smoking then. 

She was hesitant, acting with more secrecy than the normal. 

“You know what they say, Woman: be careful what you wish for.”

Irene rolled her eyes, sitting in the bed and putting her heels off. 

“It’s tired, you know? People tell you about pregnancy, and you think that you know all that you need to know, but not.”  
“You’re never fond on it, either.”

“No, I’m not. But I don’t have another option, right?”

Yes, you have, he thought. Of course she has, she could end with all of that, but she will not do that. Of course not, because that child has the genius brain, the fetus will have the best of both parents: the intelligence, cunning and ambition. 

“I’m so tired; travel is a nightmare right now.”

“It’s dangerous, you shouldn’t be here.”

“I know, but I can’t help on it: I misbehave. Besides, we need to talk.”

“About what?”

“You’re little experiment?”

“It’s not mine. What’s with it?”

“I cannot be at Poland right now, a pregnancy and a baby don’t fix in my lifestyle.”

“So?”

“So, I need to be back in England.”

“It’s impossible, Woman. You know it.”

“No, it isn’t. Talk to your brother. He likes to protect family, right?”

Of course. 

“Try to get some rest, Woman.”

He doesn’t stay at the flat that night, even if he knows that she was there. He grabs his coat and takes a cab. At moments like that he was glad that John wasn’t living at 221b Baker Street, because how were he supposed to tell John about The Woman being pregnant? 

He was not an enemy of the complete idea of the pregnancy, he had thought about it before. He had thought about it when he saw Rosie for the first time, every time that he had babysat her. He had never had paternal impulses, but he wouldn’t be bothered with a child, with The Woman’s child. She was as clever as he was and that child would be a genius.   
His brother wasn’t waiting for him; Mycroft was at his dining room, drinking alone like he always does at midnight. He shows him the surprise, the rejection and desire of not helping at all. 

“Can you explain me why do you want a pardon to Miss Adler? She’s a criminal.”

“Yes, I know it. Could you get it or not?” 

“Even if I could, I would never get it, Sherlock.”

“Oh, brother mine, don’t be so sure about it.”

“What do you mean?”

“You will do it when you will hear the complete story. There’s a child, mine.”

“That’s not possible, not at all.”

“I can assure you it is, brother. You want to protect family, right? I need you to protect them.”

Mycroft press his lips together. 

“As far as I record, she had never needed you to protect herself.”

“It’s different now, Mycroft! I need the pardon, brother dear, think about it like a pay for the entire job she and I had done the last year, with Moriarty’s network.”  
Sherlock doesn’t wait for an answer; he takes the next cab and go back to Baker Street. 

The Woman was sleeping, relaxing and breathing heavily. No, her measurements don’t have changed yet, but it will happen eventually, and he was fond on the idea.   
He doesn’t sleep that night, he rarely sleeps, he plays the violin till three in the morning and later publishes a new entrance in his blog about how women’s body change during pregnancy. He wasn’t an inexpert in the object, he had sawn a few corpses in the morgue, and had been present in the entire pregnancy of Mary, but this case is absolutely different. 

She goes out of the bedroom two hours later of the first glimpse of the sun, with his dressing gown. 

“I’ve missed you tonight, darling.”

Liar, he thought. She doesn’t even notice that he wasn’t there.

“Where were you?”

“Getting you a pardon.”

“Oh. And have you been lucky with that?”

He didn’t answer her. Irene had sat in his chair, with the eyes fixed in her new camera phone, she was writing a long email in Poland, probably to some client, or cancelling some appointment. 

“You will stay here till then, okay?”

She doesn’t answer; totally focus on writing it on her mobile. His mobile ring, reclaiming his attention from her, it was John. 

“Sherlock Holmes.” He could almost feel John rolling his eyes at the other line of the phone.

“Sherlock, you need to talk to Mycroft, now.”

“What had happened?”

“You’ve got a sister.”

“Sorry, what?”

Irene was out of the country that night, not in Poland, but in a lovely big house of Australia that Sherlock had bought two years ago. 

The next time they saw each other, he knows about Eurus, and about Sherrinford, he had played his violin there, he had texted her (awkwardly), and she had taken the first flight to England. Mycroft had sent his assistant, with a file; Anthea had just let it down on the table:

“Her pardon.” She had said. 

Surprisingly, she doesn’t go back to Baker Street, a cab was waiting for her in the airport, taking her directly to her old house in Belgravia. He looked for her twenty four hours before he knew where she was. 

Kate, her old maid, had brought the house. She still was living there, and she had received Irene with the arms open because she truly had missed her. Kate was who opened the door for him:

“Not bleeding face, this time?”

“Where is she?”

“Taking a bath, she is exhausted.”

He knows where the bathroom were, in her bedroom, the same bedroom where she had drugged him the first time. A lot of things had changed since then. 

He joined her in the bathroom and between bubbles and kisses he talks again and she listens, as always: he talks about Eurus, about John living with him again, about his life going back to normality. 

“Oh, Sherlock, your life will never be normal.”

No. Her measurements don’t still change, but they would change, and either of them was looking forward to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this a bit OC, I don't know if this what you want... Please, give me your opinion :)


	3. Family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I know it a little dissapointing and very very short, but the inspiration really left me ...

Nero was a happy child, a genius. He knew how to play violin, and harp, he liked science and surprisingly for both of his parents, also psychology. He likes to watch people, he knew how to deduce them just with three years old. 

He liked sitting in Sherlock laps while his father was looking through the microscope, reading some books with his mother, right before going to be. He liked spending the afternoons with Kate, when he was at Belgravia; and with Rosie, when he was at Baker Street. 

Hi live between the both houses, sometimes with his mother, other times with his father, the majority of the time, with both of them in one place or another. John didn’t agree with that, but nor Sherlock, nor Irene, gave in. They would definitely hate each other if they lived together forever.

Sherlock still got his cases, and Nero adores going with him at the crime scenes, listening the disapproval comments of Anderson, and Donovan; the resigned look of John. But, above all, he loved the pride look in his father’s eye when he made a good deduction. 

Irene got her clients, and the child learned to never asked about it. 

They we’re not the typical family. But, after all, they were a family.


End file.
